


Changes of the heart

by novastars



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Clash of Kings AU, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Post - A Game of Thrones, Pre-The Battle of the Blackwater, Slow Burn, Smut, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2065629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novastars/pseuds/novastars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was a Stark and she could be brave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic since my bieber stage (don't judge omg) so please leave some feedback because I'm not sure if i should make a part 2 :)
> 
> TRIGGERS/WARNINGS:  
> -mentions of abuse  
> -mentions of rape/non-con 
> 
> This is very much dubcon, i just wanted to stay true to the characters as they were at this point in the series (a clash of kings, pre-blackwater)

Sansa despised every tear that fell from her eyes as she shook underneath the Hounds fiery gaze. She almost laughed as she thought upon how brave she thought herself to be, how she could earn the title of she-wolf that was so often given to Arya, but never her. The Hound took another step towards her, and she once more shook like a leaf struck by a storm. Sansa tried to meet his eye line, for she knew how he hated her fear. But found that she couldn’t bring herself to look higher than the laces on her shift, roughly loosened and frayed by eager hands during the bedding ceremony.  She closed her eyes to attempt to stem the flow of tears and stop them from falling so rapidly.  
  
 _She was a Stark and she could be brave._  
  
She half hoped that a lie repeated a thousand times over would make it true.  
  
~  
  
Sandor Clegane looked upon the quivering little bird with apprehension. The wedding had been a brief affair, no lords or ladies wanting to waste any of Littlefingers gold on a dogs wedding feast.  
  
The girl was pale, a distant look in her eyes as though experiencing this through another. She barely ate a bite, only drinking a cupful of wine at his snide request. She spun her pretty web of lies and courtesies very well. His ruined lip twitched every time he thought of her thanking the King for his generosity, to allow her traitor self to marry his sworn shield. She was all blushes and careful smiles that never quite reached her eyes. He had never seen her wall of courtesy slip, not when Joffrey had her beaten nigh to a pulp, not during the wedding ceremony when he _finally_ pressed his burned lips on hers, nor when Joffrey had so eagerly grabbed for her, when the call for the bedding begun.  
  
Except now, the girl was sobbing quietly; her tears may well have been rain for they sure fell as fast. His eyes roamed over her form, he couldn't help but harden at the sight of her in only her smallclothes-he had never been a lover of fire but he might well thank its glow for rendering her shift transparent.  
 _  
What are you waiting for you buggering fool? She’s yours by right.  
  
_ He took a tentative step towards her but immediately stopped when her eyes drifted shut. He had half a mind to yank her forward and _force_ her to look upon him, but by all seven hells he couldn't do it. He had dreamt about this moment far many times to be healthy, but in his fantasies she was wet and willing. Not a fearful maiden.  
  
 _If she knew what he wanted to do to her, she’d run for the bloody hills_  he mused with a grim shake of his head. The silence between them was deafening, so used to her constant chirping was he, that her stillness was almost alarming.

  
“You know what happens between a man and a woman on their wedding night, little bird?” he rasped, taking another step forward as her eyes blinked open, stare still focused on the floor. 

“Y-yes, my lord, I do”  She stuttered, a warm blush blooming on her cheeks.  
Ever the obedient girl that she was, she moved her fingers a hairbreadth closer to the laces keeping her body hidden from him. His heart dropped slightly as he forced himself to move closer, until he could feel the airs disruption from her shivering.  
  
 “Are you cold girl? Or is it me that frightens you so much?” his sneer caused her beautiful features to flinch.  
  
“I must be getting a chill, my lord, it is of little matter” she sniffed and settled her hands a top of stomach. The room must have been a bit bitter, for her nipples had hardened to tiny peaks that made him palm his breeches to keep him from pushing her against the wall.

She flinched as his rough fingers brushed against her cheek bone, a snivel escaping her as he glided it softly down the length of her neck. He wasn't Gregor. He swears to himself every day that he isn't. But the little bird was warm and her body womanly enough to make him forget her age. If he closed his eyes, her tears wouldn't exist. If he tried hard enough to imagine, her sobs could be moans.  
  
 _Seven hells. Take her and be done with it. Her cunt will never be wet and willing for you.  
  
_ It was with a heavy heart that he forced both of his hands onto the little bird, if she shook before it was nothing compared to when he finally pressed his lips onto hers.  
  
The little bird was obedient, she opened her mouth when his tongue slipped against her lips. She allowed his hands to circle her budding breasts and press her body against him with a heavy groan on his part. But he could feel the wetness of her tears on his cheek and when he finally took the flimsy shift off of her body he found her chest damp with tears as well. It was only when her shaky hand brushed against his hardened cock, that she let out a strangled sob. He  dropped his hands to his side and released her mouth from his with a frown.  
  
“Have I displeased you, my lord?” her cheeks were stained red, a look of shame filling her eyes that still refused to meet his.  
  
 “Look at me” he muttered quietly, voice dripping with disdain for himself as the little bird flickered her eyes to his. Sansa Stark did what she was told.  
  
“My lord, would you have me on the bed?”  
she was a little thing, confusion settling on her features, not quite replacing the fear but enough to cause her to furrow her brow and wonder what was going to happen next. Sansa Stark was an obedient lady.  
  
Perhaps the small folk were wrong about him, mayhap _he_ was the monster of the Clegane’s and not his brother, for he pressed his lips onto hers once more. He kept his eyes closed as he lifted her from the ground and instead onto the bed, fearful of what he would find should he open them.  
 _  
The Hound; scared of a little girls tears.  
  
_ His hands roamed her figure, forcing themselves lower even as another sound escaped her mouth. He slid a calloused hand underneath the last piece of clothing on her body, he probed her lower lips.  His heart plummeted as he found her dry.  
 _  
He laughs bitterly that he should have ever expected any different  
_  
Sandor shook his head and pushed himself away from the little bird, he would never be Gregor, not even for the chance of being inside Sansa Stark.  
  
“Little bird I-“  
he paused slightly, ashamed suddenly that it was now _he_ who couldn’t meet her eyes  
“I’m sorry” he finished gruffly, turning his face away from hers and towards the dying embers of the fire.  Sansa frowned prettily for him, but he could all but smell her relief at the prospect of not fucking him.  
  
 “Won’t the King find out?” she whispered, suddenly fearful again. Sandor glanced at her  
  
“I’ll make sure he thinks I fucked ye’ bloody, little bird, don’t worry” he was unfamiliar with dealing with such a feeling as shame, only ever brushed against it, never felt.  
  
The room was enveloped by silence once more, she opened her mouth, as if to say something, but the desire soon fled her and she remained quiet. He had just about sat himself against the wall and closed his eyes when her hushed voice filled the air.  
“Why?”    
Sandor was suddenly very uncomfortable, but her earnest eyes looked at him, actually _looked_ at him and he found he couldn’t ignore her.  
 “I won’t force you, girl. I’ll have you wet and willing, if not at all” she still seemed confused so he continued “I won’t fuck you without your consent, little bird, so you can sleep easy”  
She gave him a small smile, a type of smile he rarely had the pleasure to see in court; her _real_ smile.  
  
“Thank you, my lord”  
 He mumbled a short reply and settled back against the wall, willing his cock to settle back down.  
  
A strange feeling bubbled inside him at the sound of her slow breathing, it would seem her trepidation had ebbed out of her enough to let her sleep. A chuckle forced its way up his throat as he considered that this little lady was his wife, but frowned soon thereafter at the bitter thought that she would never be happy with him. Even if he treated her like he was one of those buggering knights from those songs she loves so much, even if he was kind and even if his face didn't frighten her so, she would never be his.  
  
 _Who was he kidding? Sansa Stark will never trust him enough to let him be her husband in truth._  
  
“My lord?” her quiet voice sang out in the growing darkness, he stared at her upright figure in the bed, sheet clutched to her bosom so hard that her knuckles strained white.  
   
“What do you want?” he answered, perhaps  a little more sharply than he intended for she  flinched and immediately averted her eyes instead to the fur skinned blanket.  
  
“I was just going to offer you a place in this bed, after all it is yours and if you truly mean what you say…then you are welcome to it, my lord” She was quick to add the pleasantry at the end, if he squinted he could just make out a pretty blush on the apples of her cheeks. He said nothing as he went in beside her, pulling the cover over his shoulders and turning away from the little bird. Mayhap she was still fearful of him, but he was not Gregor.  
And he would spend the rest of his miserable life making sure that he would never be him, if it meant feeling her warmth besides his every night.  
~

They slept back to back that night, the sound of The Hounds breathing lulling Sansa into what could only be a false sense of security. She made herself smile, thankful that the most dangerous man in all of Westeros was not able to force himself upon her.  
  
 _Maybe she could be brave after all._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it means to be Lady Clegane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so wow this was longer than i anticipated.
> 
> Thank you so much to those of you who left comments and kudos on the first chapter! It meant so much to me. 
> 
> I hope this is okay, first time writing sex scenes so that was FUN (lol) 
> 
> Please leave some feedback, as always if you don't like it please don't feel the need to share that with me :)
> 
> TW: mentions Sansa's beatings  
>  allusions to dub-con/non-con

They’d been married for just under a few moons, Sansas maidenhead was still intact, much to her surprise and Sandors budging approval. It took weeks of sleepless nights, but Sansa no longer waited in fear for Sandor to take his marital rights as her husband. She thinks herself silly now for ever thinking that he would force himself upon her whilst she slept.   
  
_The Houn-Sandor_ _is not so terrible. His face may be fearsome but he has been kind_ _to her_  
  
Joffrey cocks his head with a gleeful malice whenever Sandor steps up and offers to punish her, instead of having the kingsguard beat her in front of the whole court.   
  
The first time this happened, Sansa had nearly jumped out of her skin the moment his booming voice snarled at her  
  
 _“Let me punish her good and proper, your grace. It would be my pleasure”_   
  
his burnt lip had curled at her just _so_ , filling her with fear and perhaps a touch of disappointment that whatever kindness stopped him in their chambers, did not apply here in court. Joffrey’s face had lit up like his nameday had come early, biding them farewell with a wish to hear her screams ring all across the redkeep.     
The Hound had thrown her down onto the bed and bolted the door behind him, shame fills her as she recalls her feeble attempts to beg for mercy.  
  
 _“Seven hells girl, stop your chirping and scream. Scream for your pretty little life”_    
  
She had never screamed as loudly as she did that first time. Closing her eyes and voicing all of her fear, anger and sorrow into multiple high pitched keening. The Hound had not looked surprised at the amount of emotion but instead nodded with something akin to shame glinting in his expression.   
  
He did not look her in the eye for quite some time after that.  
  
Whispers followed her like shadows the next day, yet not one of the Ladies she thought to be her companions, asked for her wellbeing. Instead they fleeted around her like birds, never quite meeting her eyes for more than a heartbeat as though she had a flu that was catching. But did she really expect any different? Was she really so naïve as to believe that friendships made in court could withstand in the harsh light of day? She crunches the inner wall of her cheek hard enough to pierce the ever-healing skin and water the eyes.  
  
She was still a stupid girl with a head full of dreams.  
  
  
 The only person to seek an answer for her health was Tyrion Lannister. Discomfort forced her hands to tremble under his worried gaze, so she folded her hands atop of her stomach just so and stared blankly into his one normal, non-black, eye.  His eyes flickered to her hands, frowning and looking at her with an inscrutable expression. Her walls almost collapsed as she willed herself to give him the truth. To smooth over the worried crease on his brow and ease what was seemingly a huge amount of distress for such a little man.  
  
 But then she remembered that he was as much of a lion as The Queen and thought no more of his anguish but to only give her custom answer.  
 _“I love my lord husband and he may do whatever he wishes to me, it is not my place to say otherwise”_    
Tyrions monstrous face turned down into a frown, sorrow filling one eye and anger filling the other. She left him in the corridor, a scornful little voice in her head whispering that even the Hound is more handsome than him.  
  


* * *

  
  
When news of Bran and Rickon reached Kingslanding, she thought to kill The Hound in his sleep, in a vain attempt to prove that she was still a wolf no matter that she was married to a dog.   
Yet she reluctantly let him stroke her hair through her tears. His hands were calloused and awkward as they pet her, as though he was unused to using them for anything else but to kill. Her tears eventually relented, but the memories did not. She found solace in the godswood, even the Hound would not follow her there. Every breeze that stirred the trees branches was a whisper of her forefathers.  
  
 _The North remembers.  
_  
The battle of blackwater bay came and went, she had yet to find who or what she was praying for.   
  
It would seem no matter who won, she would lose.   
  
The Hound bid her to hide in the Queens Ballroom with the other ladies of court. Cersei was already deep in her cups upon Sansas arrival, the drink was not to her liking at all and she found herself wondering how her husband could drink it so arduously. The Queen whispers wicked advice and words into her ears, becoming more and more spiteful with every touch of the goblet to her lips. Ser Ilyn Payne eyes her stonily throughout the battle, her face paling as his fingers caress the pommel of his sword.  She expected the Queen to find great joy in her discomfort, but Cersei had little attention to spare for her, her green eyes blank and focused on the ground. Sansas eyes followed the bead of sweat that was making a trail down her temple and thinks to herself that maybe the Queen was more frightened than her.  
  
  
It was whispered that The Hound lost his courage on the battlefield, leaving soldiers in the hands of Tyrion Lannister of all people. Yet he returned when Lord Tywins swept through and the battle was won. She forcibly cursed herself later that night, for letting slip and telling him that he had fought gallantly. Her watery eyes focused on the flickering flames of their hearth, preparing for the tirade of insults sure to come her way. But the Hound surprised her by his gentleness, facing away from her and the fire alike.  
  
 _“That was a coward’s battle, little bird. Your father was so full of honour he all but shat the bloody stuff. But I’ll tell you this; there’s no joy in killing with that damned magic fire”_  
  
She thought she understood, eyes trailing over his burnt features. He faced away from her that night, yet when she woke she found that he had pulled her tight towards his chest.   
_  
_Later, when news of her mother and Robb was relayed to her by a gleeful lord, she thought to kill herself, so as to save herself from the mockery of being the last Stark, when she was the one least worthy of survival. Yet there he was again, not quite holding her but throwing her a look of pity and rubbing her back a little too hard to be comforting.

 

  
Contempt stiffened her spine as she realized his arms were just a different kind of cage.

* * *

  


Being married to Sandor Clegane meant silent dinners and silent nights. His mumbled cursing often being the only words passed between the two of them. She learnt a hard lesson on the second night of their marriage, that he would tolerate no courtesies or pretty words from her.  
  
 _“If you have nothing but those damn lady’s words for me then save yourself the breath, girl, and stay quiet”  
  
_ She stayed silent.

Being married to Sandor Clegane meant sleeping next to his wine soaked figure, the stench so much so that it seemed to her that it had seeped into the stone walls of their tiny chambers.  
  
 It bothered her more than it should have that her nose barely wrinkled at the stench of the sour red wine he so preferred, when before she was sure it had made her gag.  
  
 Every night he came in late from his shift and drank himself into an induced sleep, sometimes not even making it to the bed and choosing to take his slumber in a hard arm chair.  
  
She didn't fail to notice that this chair was faced far away from the hearth.   
  
She liked those nights best because she was free to embroider and sew as much as she pleased, without fear of a gravelly voice snarling an insult at her for it.   
  
Sansa tried hard to ignore those nights when he did not stand guard, but instead drank deep from his goblet, all the while staring at her with a burning gaze. She tried her best not to show her discomfort when his eyes roamed over her form over and over again. Yet he always returned to meet her flickering gaze, face crumpling with the look of a man in pain, as though he were in a ferocious battle with himself.  
  
Late at night, long after the Hound fell asleep; she secretly wonders what would happen to her when the battle was over.   
  
She tried even harder to forget the single night, where the battle had looked to be won and his hand had rested high on her thigh. She thanked the gods ten times over that he was unable to continue before passing out with a loud _thunk_ onto the wooden table.  
  
He doubled the amount of wine from thereafter, and stopped his wondering eyes.

* * *

 

Being married to Sandor Clegane meant listening to the men’s bawdy jokes regarding herself and her scarred husband.   
  
Women often avoided her eyes, some looked her over in pity whilst others stifled giggles behind gloved hands. She didn’t so much as flinch at this now, the cruelty of ladies was little more than a buzzing annoyance on the rare occasion wherein she chose to break her fast in the hall. It was the men that caused sleepless nights and quivering limbs, more often than not their filthy jokes remained mysteries to her yet she blushed nonetheless.   
  
Their eyes followed her wherever she went, looks of hunger and lust plain on their faces as though she was a common whore and not a lady. Septa Mordane had taught her that courtesy was a lady’s armour, yet she found it hard to use it to these men for asking the Hound whether or not they could bed her as well.   
  
Joffrey in particular seemed to get a thrill every time he happened to ask about their bedding habits.  
  
 _“If you fuck her so often, dog, surely this bitch should be full of pups”  
“If she was with child every time I put my cock in her we’d have a litter by now, your grace” _

She had not yet known she could blush that deeply, which surely was a terrible clash with her fiery red hair, yet the court continued their forced titters of laughter until even the Hound began to look uncomfortable. Joffrey snickered the loudest, looking her over with such a malice filled lust that not for the first time she was grateful that she had not married the beauty but instead the beast.   
  
She felt his eyes on her that day, felt them like a physical force that almost begged her to return the look. She kept her eyes on Joffrey and thanked him for inquiring so about the nature of providing an heir for the Clegane line.   
The words burned on the way out, her heart crying out that she would never be anything but a wolf. But Lady was long since dead and so were her family, she painted on the prettiest of smiles and ignored the force of the Hounds gaze.   
  
She had no doubt that he would confront her later, in the privacy of their chambers, but for moment she would keep up her mummers farce of happiness and left the court room with a practiced grace.  
She wondered if life would have served her better if she was not born a Stark.   
  
She kept her mask on until the evening, when finally she thought herself able to cry, but found that she could not. Not with the prospect of the Hound returning.   
  
She sat down near the hearth and tried to finish her embroidery, frowning ever so slightly as she found with disgust that even her sewn wolves looked like dogs.   
  
The Hound was drunk when he finally kicked the door open, jolting her awake with a loud _bang._ Her hands clenched the fabric still held in her lap slightly as he stared at her. His body swayed faintly like a breeze might sway a monstrous oak tree. She tried to meet his eyes for as long as possible, yet found it unbearable to hold it for long; not when it burned quite as hard as tonight.

The dying embers cast a dark shadow across his features, making his scars burn anew with more grotesquery.   
  
_“Good evening my lord, I do hope you had a good time at the tavern”_ pride filled her at the undetectable waver in her voice. He slowly shook his head, snorting with disdain and looking at her with those dark eyes of his.  
  _“Good evening, my lady”_ he hissed, sarcasm dripping from every word _“I had a good time getting shit pissed drunk”_  
She recoiled slightly at his foul choice of tongue, surprised by the sudden amount of venom in his words.   
  
Recovering her composure, she smiled sweetly and picked up her needle and thread again, determined to keep her hands busy lest let it be known how hard they were shaking. Silence wasn’t unusual for the pair, but The Hound seemed extremely disgruntled by it just now, eyes burning into her and a sneer already twitching at his ruined lips.  
  
 _“Lost your voice, little bird? You seemed to have it for the king. Singing your pretty lies and thanks”_ His voice was gruff and mocking, taking a step forward until he was towering over her.   
_“I’m sorry if I bothered you my lord I–”_  he forced her chin up, his eyes boring into hers with a fury that was hard to contain.   
  
_“You’re not sorry. What did I tell you about those buggering lady’s words? A dog can smell a lie and you reek of it”_ his words hissed into her with a tremor and she struggled to continue looking him in the eyes.   
  _“My lord, if this is about what I said to his grace, I merely thanked him for asking”_ uncertainty sprinkled her words like dust, his eyes narrowed and the grip on her chin tightened.  
  
 _“Would you have thanked me for raping you girl? Would you still be so bloody courteous if I fucked you every night like a dog takes a bitch?”_    
She stayed silent, her mind whirling as it tried to think of her Septa’s lessons and what was the right thing to say.   
  
  _“It is your marital right to have me as you please and mine to procure an heir”_  
The words were read as lines, memorised so much so as hard as she tried there was very little emotion hid behind it. His eyes left hers to travel down her form, lingering on her breasts for long enough that discomfort fumbled within her. It was with a small relief that he let go of her chin.   
  
His hand reached out once more to touch her face and much to her horror, she flinched. His arm dropped to his side, looking oddly disheartened before anger blanketed his features once more.   
  
Not for the first time did she wonder why he wanted her _wet and willing_. 

* * *

  
  
Being married to Sandor Clegane meant more often than not waking up to his manhood pressed hard against her bottom.  
  
 She knew enough about men to know that this was not out of the ordinary.   
  
Yet the first morning of their marriage when she had woken to his body closely aligned with hers and his _cock_ stiff against her, it had taken a lot of control to keep her sounds of alarm inside of her and drift back to sleep. She tried hard to block out the nights where she unknowingly squirmed back against his hardness and the Hound would all but jump away from her, lust and anger bright in his eyes as he grumbled muttered curse words.   
  
She wasn't sure she was ready to contemplate why her movements troubled him so.  
  
 She tries even harder to block out the single time, when she had started moving in discomfort, and he had moved back; startling her with the force of his grip that so suddenly pulled her towards him.   
She had not been aware that he was awake.   
  
Grinding his manhood into her with a low groan of relief and gripping her tighter to him, fingers digging into her thigh. His head was buried in her hair, his other hand sneaking underneath her body to pull her closer.   
  
She made a noise, so overwhelmed by his scent and the feel of something tightening in a place that certainly wasn’t her tummy. But the Hound took it for fear and pushed himself away from her. He took large steps to the door and slammed it shut, leaving her alone and oddly unsatisfied in the empty bed.  
  
And if she ever felt anything other than discomfort, she shamefully pushed it away and pretended otherwise.

* * *

  
Being married to Sandor Clegane did have its perks, they were scare and few but they did exist.   
  
One of her favourites was going to the training yard and watching the knights practice at their swordplay.   
  
She had little but disdain towards the other knights of the kingsguard but Ser Loras was not like the others, he was not cruel and a childish part of her couldn’t help but think that he was like a knight from a song.  
  
 Hers were not the only eyes that followed him as he took off his helm and drank deeply from a waterskin.   
He was _beautiful_ she sighed and joined in brightly with the claps that followed his return to the field. The Hound was just as fierce as Loras, if not even more so, yet the crowd did not cheer so loudly for him.  
  
She could feel the Hound following her gaze towards Ser Loras, a sneer making itself known on his face before laughing with a shake of his head.   
  
When the training was finished, and Ser Loras had left with the eyes of all Ladies present following him, she makes her way to leave. But the Hound blocks her path with a feral smirk quipping up his lips, annoyance glittering darkly in his eyes.  
  
 _“You came here to coo over the Tyrell boy like everyone else”  
_  
She smiled sweetly at him, her mind still befuddled with images of Ser Loras swinging his sword.  
  
  _“He was very gallant”_ The Hound snorted and his eyes grew harder  
  
 _“And what was I little bird? Was I gallant?”  
_  
She frowned, gallant was not a word one would use to describe her lord husband but she did not want to risk his anger.   
  
  _“No I think not, but you were very fierce, my lord”  
_  
The Hound snorted again and walked away, she was immensely grateful that he had taken the compliment, and kept his nasty comments to himself.   
  
She didn't know why he didn't slight her for coming to the training, but she hoped it meant that she could watch Ser Loras practice his swordplay again.   
  


* * *

 

Joffreys wedding was looming over them all, not for the first time was she grateful that it was not her fate to be his queen. Margaery Tyrell was as sweet and lovely as the rose of her house, but Sansa couldn’t help but warn the girl and her grandmother of Joffreys true nature.   
She hoped she would not live long enough to regret it.  
  
 A deep blush blooms on her cheeks when Margaery invites her to tomorrows dinner with a few of her cousins and ladies in waiting, she smiles and has to keep herself from answering to quickly; after all it had been far too long since she had good company over any meal. The Hound was silent and rarely answered her questions with any depth or real interest.  
 _“I would love to join you, my lady. It would be an honour”  
  
 _ Margaery lips pull into a smile at her response, yet Sansa grows uncomfortable as her eyes travel down her dress, which she knows is far too small for her.  
  
  _“When was the last time you had new dresses made? Surely your lord husband commissioned some”  
  
_ Margaerys eyebrows quipped up in surprise, she swallowed as shame filled her; she didn’t think she would ruin a friendship with the new Queen so quickly.  
  
 _“My lord husband has…better matters to attend to”_   
  
she answers meekly, willing Margaery to understand that she was sure The Hound doesn't spare a second thought for the clothing she wears.   
  
  _“We’ll have one made special – you can even wear it to the wedding if you like”_    
  
Sansa hadn’t smiled that forcefully in a long time, she found the muscles there were stiff from little use.

The dress was Tully blue with grey detailing, the neckline was deeper than what she was used to but the fabric felt like water as she twirled it in front of Margaery. Dinner went perfectly, much to her growing delight Ser Loras popped in as he paced passed and smiled at her so dashingly she thought her heart would burst. They talked, they laughed and pride expanded her chest every moment she behaved like a perfect little lady.  
  
 Sansa felt like the girl she had been when she had first arrived to Kingslanding; completely infatuated with the extravagance of it all.   
  
The high she had been on shattered the moment she was dropped off back at her chambers, to her displeasure The Hound was already there and taking a deep sip from the ever resident goblet of wine. He barely glanced up at her before returning to his cups.   
  
Annoyance bubbled deep in her belly, on a whim she spun for him.  
  
 _“What do you think? Lady Margaery had it made special”  
_  
His dark eyes flickered over the dress before darting back to his goblet, an inscrutable emotion flashing on his features.  
  
  _“I know little of womans things”_   
  
She was surprised by the amount of civility in his voice, yet she still felt a twinging annoyance. She was able to teach Jon Snow how to compliment a lady and he was half her husband’s age.   
  
_“Yes my lord I’m sure such trivial things have little matter to you, but what do you think?”_    
  
She pressed further, even she could no longer say why she was so desperate for his opinion. He glanced towards her again, his eyes taking their own sweet time as they roamed over the dress until finally pausing to meet her eyes.  
  
  _“You look a woman”  
_  
his gravelly voice said it like a threat, yet she wonders to herself why she does not feel so threatened.

_“Is that a good thing or a bad thing, my lord?”_    
  
Her words were whispered in the crisp air, no longer so sure of herself that she wanted an answer. His harsh laugh filled the room, his eyes were dark as they looked her over once more.  
  
  _“I don’t know little bird. At least when you wore those children’s gowns I could pretend that you were not a woman grown. I could make a mummer of myself and pretend that I would be condemned to all seven hells for wanting to fuck you”  
_  
She was quiet for a second, a light blush creeping onto her cheeks.  He laughed with a bitter shake of his head, her body left with an oddly empty feeling when his eyes finally left her.   
  
_“I’m sorry, my lord”  
_    
 He sniffed and stood up, moving past her with a brush of his unarmored arm against her before pausing to let his eyes wonder to her once more. He didn't say anything. Just looked at her, his eyes asking a question that she knew not what the answer was.   
  
He left the room, seemingly dissatisfied with her silence.  
  


* * *

  
Being married to Sandor Clegane was an eye opener; nightmares haunted him just as much as they stalked her.   
She often wondered what it was that scared him so, the question often burning on her lips so much so that it was a wonder that hers were not as marred as his.   
  
But she feared his wrath more than her minds creations, and silently waited for his breathing to return to normal and grumble back into sleep.  
  
It was with a pounding heart that she jolted awake, the images her mind plagued her, flashing before her eyes so much that she had to brush her hand against The Hounds chest to differ the imaginary from the real.   
  
_“Another nightmare, girl? What was this one about?”_   
  
his voice did not startle her, he was often woken by her whimpers and flinching but thankfully did not blame her for it.  
  
  _“I don’t r-remember my l-lord”  
  
_ even half awake and shaking, Sansa remembered her courtesies.  The chamber was silent for an age, he seemed to be waiting for her to continue and her eyes watered to even think about it. She turned around to face him  
  
  _“It was not so much the bad parts, my lord…it – it started out so happily”_ She sniffed and tried to wipe her eyes on her shift _“I miss them”_  
  
To his credit, Sandor didn’t mock her for sharing her dreams contents, yet she could sense his annoyance simmering under the surface.  
  
 _“And while they’re rotting in the ground, you have to wake up to an ugly bloody dog? Would you rather join them, little bird? ”  
  
_ His sudden sneer did little to alarm her, so used was she to his angry mood swings, yet her eyes continued to water until a single droplet rolled itself down her  cheek. It was not the first time she had considered joining her family, but she was a craven and could barely think about the idea without paling.   
  
  _“No my lord, you have been very good”_     
        
And it was true, The Hound had been nice to her in his own hateful way.   
  
She was very much aware of his proximity when he snorted, an unfamiliar sensation filling her when his gravelly voice growled in the bitter night air.   
  
_“But not good enough to open your legs to, is that the way of it little bird?”_   
  
Sansa recoiled slightly, somehow stunned by the sudden spitefulness in his tone. She looked at him closely, forcing herself to see past his ugly burns and she saw that maybe for once his anger wasn't directed at her, perhaps it never was.   
  
_“I wouldn't go so far as to say that my lor –”  
  
_ Her sentence was cut off, his lips pressing against hers and swallowing her courtesies.   
  
His mouth was hard and forceful, her lips were unmoving against his for a heartbeat, stunned yet quickly tried her best to recuperate his actions.   
  
How strange to think that, though she had been married for four moons, she had not had much practice at these things since their wedding night.   
  
That queer place below her tummy tightened slightly when she felt his warm tongue on her lips, she opened it obediently and blushed at the ferocity of his groan when he felt the pull of it against hers.   
The warmth of his hands burned as he ran them up and down the side of her body, the flimsy shift doing little to shield her from his touch. She edged closer to him, he paused his wondering fingers to dig into the flesh of her bottom.   
  
_I’m enjoying this_   
  
The thought briefly surprised her, before being distracted once again by his hands, which were pressing hard against her bottom and snaking themselves in-between their bodies to toy with her breasts. His mouth moved from hers, focusing his attention on the strip of pale skin exposed on the side of her neck.   
  
She tried to contain the noises that made way to escape her, not knowing if it was normal for a lady to make them and not willing to risk his anger.   
  
But when he began to suck and bite at the skin there she whimpered quietly and hesitantly raised her leg and hooked it over Sandors hip. She had never felt braver, stupid and more like a true northerner than when he pulled away and looked her in the eyes.   
  
A positively wicked grin spread across his face as he wound his hands down to her lower back and pressed her tight against him.  
  
 _“Oh”_   
  
Sansa breathed out, eyes fluttering closed at the peculiar sensation of his hardened manhood _there_ ,    
  
  _“That’s right, it’s not so bad is it, little bird?”_    
  
His raspy voice whispered darkly, grinding his manhood against her softly. She shook her head, her eyes peeking open in time to see him press his lips back against her, filled with a renewed vigour as his hands tangled in her hair.   
  
He reached so his hands were firmly placed on her and the bedspread, flipping them over so that his body hovered above hers, kissing her mouth once more before travelling down her neck to her collarbone.  
  
Sansa wasn’t entirely sure what she was meant to do, his hair was in her face and his proximity was almost unnerving, so she timidly locked her legs around his hips once more. An odd sense of pride filled her as he groaned in approval, immediately pressing himself hot against her and causing more of that damnably unfamiliar throbbing and tightening.  
  
Her own lips faltered slightly when she felt his hands fumble at the lacings on her shift, he seemed not to notice her apprehension as he impatiently peeled the clothing over her head.   
  
He lifted up from her somewhat, better to look down at her half naked form with eyes that seemed to ravish her with every wonder down her torso.   
  
The night was bitter, but she felt nothing but warmth under his dark, dark gaze.   
  
Her blush had spread to her chest and she hastily made way to cover them, eyes fleeting around the room to rest on anything but her husband.   
  
_“You’re a sweet thing, believe me, little bird”  
  
_ her heartbeat quickened as his hands slowly circled over and over her waist, goose bumps erupting in his wake. His hands were calloused and rough, but his touch was soft, as though she would break with the tiniest push.   
  
She heard her breathing hitch the moment she felt his thumbs stroke the underside of her breasts, the coil inside of her tightening again at the force of his gaze on her hands that covered her there.  
   
 _“Do you know how long I've dreamed of this moment, little bird? Longer than you think, I’d wager. You’re so innocent I doubt you know how to want a man, but I want you, little bird. The thought of you arse naked underneath me has kept me up at night, and when you’re not in my dreams, you’re wiggling against my cock, you’re walking around in dresses that, if you were any other woman, would make me want to throw you down and fuck you til you can barely walk”_   
  
He grinded his hard manhood into her, as if to emphasis his point.  
  
 _“This is what you do to me, little bird. The thought of tasting your teats and cunt is enough to make my mouth water; do you know what that’s like, little bird? To want to fuck the kings betrothed? But bloody hells, you’re mine now and let the stranger take me if I have to keep away from you forever”_

Her breathing had increased with every rasp of his voice, chest rapidly moving up and down and easily drawing his eyes to her covered breasts once more. His gaze lingered there for a second or two, seeming to enjoy seeing her hands there, before hastily removing them and forcefully holding them above her head.  
  
Embarrassment fills her deeply as she is bared to his hungry stare, enough so to make her close her eyes to his look. She felt rather than heard his breathing hitch as her nipples puckered in the cold night air. She is left unawares when she feels the wetness of his mouth circling her nipple, eliciting a gasp from her and he hummed in satisfaction, slipping his hand under her back and pulling her closer.  
  
A throaty moan escapes her throat when he began to suck, a part of her was ashamed for acting so wantonly but a pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain rendered all other thoughts useless. One hand reached up to play with her other breast, toying with her nipples hardness, while the other smoothed down and hooked her leg around him tighter.   
  
Her heartbeat quickened once more as his hand began to foray into her underclothe territory, trying in vain to wiggle it down her legs whilst still keeping the connection between their bodies.   
  
_“Get out of that”  
  
_ He growled against her lips, she swallowed as yet another wave of flushing spread across her cheeks and chest.  
  
  _“Yes, my l – lord”  
_  
he barely noticed her words, distracted as he discarded his shirt and unbuckled his breeches, leaving them hanging loose around his hips. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to slip her under thing down her legs.  
  
 _You are the only Stark and you can be brave_  
  
She repeated the familiar phrase in her head until the fabric was gone from her body, leaving her completely bare before this giant of a man. She drew her legs close together, restraining herself to not cover the triangle of auburn hair growing between her thighs.   
  
He was silent as he looked at her, hunger and lust so plain to see on his features that it was almost overwhelming to contemplate. His mouth returned to her body with a new sense of purpose, she squirmed at the feeling of his marred skin against hers but let him lick and kiss his way down her torso. She yelped when his tongue flicked out to her bellybutton, her hips bucking against him.   
  
She averted her eyes awkwardly when she saw his own hand sneak down towards his crotch to palm at the growing bulge there.   
  
Apprehension buzzed throughout her being when he reached her private area and the hair that grew there, looking up with a question burning bright in his eyes.  
  
She thought of all the good things he had done for her, she thought of how, even now, he was leaving this final choice up to her. Closing her eyes, she nodded and shyly opened her legs to him.   
  
His breathing was quick, and she felt his hands rest on her inner thigh and the soft circles he drew there. His fingers wondered up until they came in contact with her folds, his other hand holding her down as she bucked against him once more.   
  
She gasped and arched her back when he began to stroke lightly over the surface of her woman’s place, she opened her eyes to be met with his own, which were watching her every expression with a dark intensity.  
  
 _“Is this for me, little bird?”_   
  
his low voice questioned in amazement, toying with the peculiar wetness that had grown during their ministrations. Mortification burned bright in her cheeks, so sure that such a thing was uncommon and not meant to happen.   
  
  _“Yes, my lord”_   
  
her timid voice felt too loud in the shadowy chamber, his eyes narrowed at her courtesy but fleeted back to the place between her thighs and leaning in closer until she was sure she could feel his nose against her.   
  
_“Little bird, if – I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself if I continue”_   
  
the fear in his voice wrought all kinds of emotions inside of her, the most prominent seemed to be trepidation. She could stop it all right now, she knew. He would get up and leave, but she felt for certain that if she rejected him now, he would never return to her, not for true.   
  
Her hand reached out and stroked the dwindling hair on his unburnt side of his head.  
 _“We can – we can continue, my lord”_ she tried so very hard to hide every aspect of fear that dwindled so in her belly.   
  
He looked her in the eye and nodded, some inscrutable emotion burning there before he all but buried his face back between her thighs, another yelp coming out of her when she felt the warm wetness of his tongue on her.   
  
Setting all inhibition to the wind, she moaned and cried at the sensation of his attentions down there, his hand reaching up to her breast and squeezing roughly. He almost faltered when he began sucking on the nub on top of her opening and she all but sobbed; the feeling so intense and overwhelming she could not tell if it was pleasure or pain that caused her to make such a noise.   
  
When he discerned that he had not indeed hurt her, he licked and sucked until she began to feel something building up inside of her, something so deep she was not so sure she was ready to know what it was.   
  
The next time she looked up, Sandor was pulling his breeches down and taking his manhood in hand. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, he laughed loudly yet for once he lacked his usual mocking tone.  
 _“You've never seen a cock, of course”_ he shook his head, ignoring her sudden jump when he pressed the head against her.   
  
Panic stricken, she clasped his arm tightly and forced him to still his movements  
  
 _“Please be gentle!”_   
  
her cry stopped him, a small smile curling up the undamaged side of his face yet remained silent until she lay back down   
  
  _“I will try, mark my words I’ll try for you, little bird”_   
  
Closing her eyes, she mewed quietly as he rubbed the head up and down her slit, focusing on the nub above her opening enough to make her hips jerk against him.   
  
He pushed into her with a heavy groan on his part, his dark eyes fluttering close and burying his head in the crook of her neck. She tried to stay silent, she really did, but the sudden pain in a place she had never felt before streamed through her and she cried out against the thin hair of his head.   
  
 It was done, her maidenhead was ripped gone and with it, her Stark name.

It hurt.  
  
 _Of course it hurt.  
_  
But she was determined to no disappoint the man who was now her husband in truth. She pulled Sandors face to hers, to keep the sounds of discomfort in and distract herself from the raw sensation between her legs.  
  
A part of couldn't help but think it strange that she had this man inside of her, that she was not alone in this body. But his heavy breathing had transformed into moans that began to awaken something deep inside of her.  
  
His thrusting was slow and gentle at first, he was not a small man and it took a while for her to adjust and the burning sensation to sizzle into something that bordered on pleasure.   
  
Yet still, he almost shook from the force of keeping so slow inside of her,  he pushed the full length of himself in painfully slow, lingering in that position until she wanted to squirm against his body and he trembled from the might of it all, before ever so slowly pulling out and starting all over again.   
  
It was all too much, his proximity, the friction inside of her was becoming pleasurable and she was sure she would explode if he kept this pace up.  
 _  
“Oh please Sandor, go faster”_   
  
She bucked against him in vain, he stopped his movements and looked down at her with that damnable wicked grin and used his hand to spread her legs wider.  
  
The bed rocked and banged hard against the wall as his thrusting increased, the slap of skin against skin so loud she would have been mortified if not for the feel of it all. His hand reached up to grip the headboard, moaning throatily as he went even deeper.   
  
Sandor Clegane was everywhere, his scent surrounded her, his skin burning against her and his hands combed over her body with a feverish desire, determined to get his fill.   
  
His thrusts were becoming more irregular as her hips began to meet his every push, the coil inside of her tightening to the point of pain when his lips returned to her nipple with much more brutality, biting and sucking in time with the movements of their hips.  
  
The act itself did not last long, Sandor thrust with more force, gripping her thighs and bottom tight against him and pulling his lips away from hers to rest his forehead against hers.   
  
_“Little bird”_   
  
he breathed against her skin and with one final shaky push he finished inside of her, leaving Sansa with the queer sensation of his seed mingling with her own arousal once he slipped out of her.   
  
She felt oddly unsatisfied, but she did not want to disturb the peacefulness that had blanketed his features.   
  
_“You made me a greenboy in between your legs, girl”_ He chuckled, glancing at her almost apologetically. She smiled, trying to calm her breathing and ignore the strong throbbing in her woman’s place. He saw her fidgeting and laughed louder  
 _“You didn't have your pleasure”_  it was more of a statement than a question, yet Sansa blushed and tried to think of the right way to answer him.   
  
Thankfully, she didn't have to.   
  
With a grunt, he raised himself over her again and rested in between her legs, hooking them over his shoulders. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip when she felt his fingers probing her there and squeaked when he touched that special pearl of nerves.   
  
His eyes never left hers, so intense and watching her every movement, she couldn't look away.   
  
He liked that very much.   
  
He began doing soft circles over her nub with his thumb, his other hand holding her squirming body down when he inserted a finger inside of her.  
  
She didn't last long, so overwhelmed by these intense new emotions that tears sprang to her eyes as her peak came over her. Her pleasure was made all the more forceful when she felt his tongue lapping at her as she moaned and groaned her way through it.   
  
Sansa curled up against him when it was done and he had pulled himself back next to her, not so sure what to say to the man who had touched her so intimately.  
  
 _“Thank you”_   
  
she whispered in a small voice, glancing up to him with sincere eyes. He barked a laugh and pulled her closer.  
  
As she drifted off to sleep, she thought he heard him say something to her as well. But her dreams were loud and muffled all sound.  
  


* * *

  
   
Being married to Sandor Clegane meant accepting that dogs and wolves aren’t so different after all.

 


End file.
